Sometimes it Hurts Instead
by ChocolateTurnip
Summary: /It's been such a long time since Antonio last heard that voice, but when he hears it rising over the supermarket aisle like a lost melody, all the memories immediately come flooding back./ Kink meme request for a relationship breakdown, filled with Spain and Austria. Past SpAus, with Spamano, AusHun and SwissBel. Human AU, so human names used.
1. Prologue

***Well, I thought it was high time to start writing a longer Hetalia story, so I thought I'd fulfil a prompt on the Hetalia Kink Meme. **

**Original prompt : I want to see how the once happy couple's relationship progresses/diminishes to the breaking point, and how they finally call it quits. I want you to break me, Anon. I'm okay with any pairing for this except AusHun.**

**Immediately when I saw this prompt, I knew I which pairing I was going to use; SpAus. Despite being an AusHun and Spamano shipper, I really think Spain and Austria had a very happy relationship in the past, but that it just didn't work out in the long term. Title is (obviously) inspired by the Adel song, because I'm crap at coming up with my own titles**

**Anyway, without further ado, here it is. (By the way, it's a Human AU, which is why I've used human names).***

* * *

One sentence is all it takes.

It's been such a long time since he last heard that voice. Countless years have tumbled by in the meantime; too many for Antonio to even remember to keep count of. Yet when he hears those words- rich, prim and stiffly accented- rising over the other side of the supermarket aisle like a lost melody, the recognition immediately sets in.

"Excuse me, but I don't suppose I could trouble you for directions to the pastry counter?"

Antonio's heart begins to slow, each beat thudding with a realisation heavier and more painful than the last. Everything on his mind that seemed important ten seconds ago- the price of courgettes, planning next week's dinners, trying to remember whether his Lovino prefers cherry or plumb tomatoes- slips away into graceful oblivion, leaving only one impulse on his mind.

Vaguely, he's aware of stepping away from the shelves, abandoning his trolley, and hastening down the aisle like he's possessed by a dream. His pulse has quickened again; the jittering urge turning increasingly frantic. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there's a voice screaming doubts (strange how much it sounds like Lovi's), but he pushes it aside.

He has to know if it's really him, he has to. More than that, he _wants_ to.

Turning into the next aisle is like entering a time capsule. His back is turned away, but Antonio distinguishes him in an instant, fondly noting the navy trench coat, high boots and that one rogue curl that used to cause him such chagrin. Everything about him is just the same as before, from his poker-stiff posture to the way his knuckles whiten from clutching the basket a little too tightly. It's as if Antonio had stumbled across a scene paused from a video, or even returned from collecting an item as he had so many times on their own shopping trips together.

The thought terrifies him.

Ahead of him, the half-stranger nods stiffly as he listens to the directions, thanks the shop assistant with all his usual haughtiness and moves to walk away. It's then that Antonio realises that he can't let him go. Not just yet.

"Roderich!"

The word tumbles out before he's even aware of it. His breath stills as he watches the man freeze in his place, evidently startled by the suddenness of his name. Or perhaps he too has heard the voice behind it; perhaps he too feels the same jolt of nostalgic trepidation.

As the man turns, Antonio doesn't notice the ruffled disbelief in his face, or the way his eyebrows knot together in distress, or even how his mouth hangs ajar. All he can see is the change in the picture; a change that's so slight, but makes all the difference in the world.

A thin band of gold around his fourth finger.

"Roderich?" he calls again, and this time, the tone is almost pleading.

The basket slips from Roderich's hand, falling to the floor with a crash.

* * *

***Okay, this part is a kind of prologue; the story behind it will be coming in later chapters. Reviews would be wonderful.* **


	2. Forever and Always

"Smile, Roddy!"

"Antonio, I-"

"Come one, just a little one!"

"I've told you already, I can't-"

"Please?"

Realising that his protests were futile, Roderich sighed. The trouble was, whenever Antonio gazed at him in the way he was gazing at him now- his green eyes spaniel-wide and an unfairly-handsome little smirk framing his face- he was simply impossible to resist. His insides twinged guiltily as he surveyed the discarded photographs littering the floor of the booth, realising how frustrating this endeavour must have been for his boyfriend. Each and every picture they'd tried, while they'd been perfectly fine in Roderich's opinion, seemed to dissatisfy Antonio; sadden him even.

"Not this one. We don't look like a proper couple at all." he'd repeated time and time again before crumpling the offending photograph and slotting more coins into the machine with an increasing sense of desperation.

After seeing so many rejected, Roderich was beginning to understand what he meant. The pictures seemed to be mocking their contrasts, showing up the clashes between Antonio's carefree cheer and his own uncompromising stoicism to the point where they looked ludicrous together.

And yet, at no point had Antonio shown even the slightest hint of irritation towards him. He simply kept on insisting that they try again, that he try to smile, just one more time. After all, irritation wasn't in Antonio's nature.

Another contrast.

"Alright, alright." he leaned forwards into the view of the on-screen camera, sweeping back his fridge, "Why you even want it so badly is a mystery to me... but I suppose I can oblige you this much."

It was worth conceding defeat just to be able to see the sheer elation which lit up Antonio's face.

"Really? Oh Roddy, thank you!" he pressed his lips fleetingly against the side of his head, a little too fleetingly for Roderich's liking, and began fiddling with the buttons on the screen, "Listen, I know you don't want to do this, but it'll look good, I promise."

"I shall have to take your word for it..." Roderich muttered, but it evaded his boyfriend's attention.

"Okay, smile on the count of three..." Antonio scrambled back into position and pulled Roderich's body close with an affectionate arm encircling his shoulders, "One... two... three."

The screen blackened and Roderich tried his best to comply, forcing the corners of his mouth up against their will. A moment or two later the machine whirred with the process, before shooting out the resulting photograph. Antonio retrieved it with reverent fingers and held it up to the light.

"Hey, would you look at this one!" he said, and Roderich was relieved to hear contentment in his voice, "Awww, you're just too cute like that, Roddy!"

"May I see?"

He peered over his boyfriend's shoulder, adjusting his glasses to study the picture. Instantly, hot humiliation swarmed to his face, along with the blaring reminder of just why he never even attempted to smile. The expression he was putting on was so strained and inelegant that it was closer to a grimace; exposed all the more by the gorgeous ease of Antonio's grin. He made a half-concealed grumble of protest in the back of his throat and Antonio looked down at him.

"What's wrong?"

"Don't you think it looks a little... forced?"

Antonio cocked his head to one side, squinting experimentally. He shrugged.

"Don't think so. It's perfect!"

He slipped the photograph into his breast pocket then, almost as an afterthought, leaned in to kiss Roderich's mouth. It only lasted a moment, but the gesture was tingle-inducing beautiful; all warm breath and tender lips and the soft tickle of hair against his cheek. By the time his boyfriend pulled away, Roderich could feel the automatic blush frosting his cheeks and Antonio chuckled indulgently.

"You really haven't got the hang of this whole 'kissing in public' thing have you?"

"Not so much that," Roderich slipped his navy overcoat back on and began fastening the buttons, "It just felt... pleasing, that's all."

That only made Antonio chuckle harder still, a quirk he could barely go five minutes without. But regardless of frequency, his laughter was always music to Roderich's ears; better than any of his orchestra's grand symphonies.

"High praise, coming from you." Antonio joked, and drew back the curtain of the booth, "Anyway, shall we go?"

Roderich followed him out, tucking his scarf underneath the neckline.

"Let's"

* * *

Though it appeared sunny, the air outside was crisp with a harsh chill characteristic of late-October, freezing Roderich to the bone as they wandered through town. Even through gloves, he could feel the cold settling unbearably on his fingers. He considered warming them in his pockets, as Antonio was, but it seemed far too casual an act for someone of his refinement, so he rubbed them together instead.

Noticing, Antonio reached out and pulled Roderich's hand into his own, snugly lacing their fingers together. Roderich's body tensed reflexively, but he found himself relaxing under the simplicity of the touch in due course.

Such an open display of affection still unnerved him, naturally, but he never truly minded holding Antonio's hand.

"Whereabouts are we going exactly?" he asked, his breath misting.

"Oh, you know, just down to the cafe." Antonio's attempt at a throwaway tone failed to hide his playful little smirk, "Nowhere special or anything."

Roderich raised an eyebrow, but perused the matter no further. It did _seem_ rather like their usual route, but Antonio was being oh-so mysterious and he wouldn't put it past him to carry out some ridiculous act of romantic spontaneity. Especially considering today's date.

He'd been wondering vaguely for a while now whether Antonio would remember his birthday. He could be so utterly thick-headed sometimes that Roderich had considered it highly probable for him to forget, and when he'd awoken this morning to not so much as an acknowledgement, he was positive that it had slipped his boyfriend's mind. Not that it had bothered Roderich in the slightest; he'd never been one for drawing attention to himself over unnecessary trivialities. But considering Antonio's strange request with the photographs, and now this air of knowingness... he certainly had a trick up his sleeve.

His suspicions were furthered when they stopped outside their favourite coffee shop, Cafe Gaufre, and Antonio released his hand.

"You go on in and order." he said, "I- I've got something I have to do first."

"How very intriguing." Roderich fought to keep the sarcasm from his voice, "Might I inquire exactly what?"

"Ah, you'll see, you'll see."

Winking, he ushered Roderich towards the door and blew him a quick kiss before hurrying off over the cobbles of the street. Roderich watched on in amusement as his boyfriend marginally avoided crashing into a large-chested woman in his haste. He shook his head.

_Honestly_.

* * *

Inside, Cafe Gaufre was teeming with the rush of a typical mid-afternoon influx. Nearly all of the daintily-organised tables were occupied- by couples, families, friends catching up for a chat, even middle-aged men lounging over a paper. The calming scent of strong coffee was heavy about the air, mingling with that of freshly baked breads and pastries. It was enough to make Roderich's mouth water.

"Hey! Roderich!" He turned to see the waitress, Isabelle, hurrying over from clearing a table to greet him, "Great to see you again."

"The pleasure is all mine."

Clasping her hand in his, he bent over it and mimed a kiss. It was an antiquated gesture, he knew- one that made Antonio slap his forehead whenever he saw him greet a woman in that manner- but it was so deeply ingrained in him that always felt wrong not to. As ever, she simply rolled her eyes in response as she began to lead him to the back of the cafe to take his order.

It had been Antonio's suggestion when they'd first started going out that he introduce Roderich to all of his friends, and in the months that had followed he'd gotten to know Isabelle especially well. According to Antonio, the two of them had been childhood sweethearts before the crucial mid-teen revelation that he preferred men, but had remained together in a stable friendship regardless. Roderich was secretly very glad of that; out of all of Antonio's circle of friends, she was the only one who could actually be considered a good influence. Certainly, she was much more mature than the usual drunken louts he hung around with. Aside from that, she baked pastries better than anyone else he knew... apart from himself, of course.

"Happy Birthday, by the way!" she said, resuming her position behind the counter.

"Mmmm." he muttered distractedly.

Behind her, there was a man whom he had never seen before, working his way through wiping a pile of cups with a near-lethargic pace. Although he had his back turned, Roderich noticed an unruly piece of hair protruding from the top of his head, somewhat like his own. He forced his attention away as Isabelle spoke again.

"I didn't expect you to come here today. I thought Toni might be taking you out somewhere nice."

"Antonio? I suspect that he has forgotten entirely."

Isabelle chewed her lip. "I'm sure he hasn't... Where is he now, anyway?"

"He appears to have given me the slip." Roderich said dryly, "An 'urgent matter' to attend to, or something of the sort."

"Really? I wonder what it could be." a slight smirk surfaced though she brushed it away a moment later, "Shall I get you the usual while you wait, Roddy?"

Roderich tied his best not to wince at the nickname. He'd never cared particularly for abbreviations, and still stubbornly refused to call her 'Belle' despite her insistence, or Antonio 'Toni' for that matter. And, as far as he was concerned, calling him 'Roddy' was a honour reserved for Antonio alone; a name he'd not only become accustomed to hearing in his boyfriend's measured accent, but one that he found himself beginning to enjoy.

"Please do. And you might as well prepare Antonio's while you're at it."

"Right." she nodded and turned to her new co-worker, "One Einspanner and one Carajillo, please Lovino!"

The man looked back sullenly from the cups and acknowledged the order with a grumble before stomping off to the kitchen. Roderich watched him go, eyebrows raised.

"Who is _that_ exactly?"

Isabelle didn't miss the disdain in his voice.

"Don't be too hard on him; he's only been here a week. Just moved in to the country from New York." she punched numbers into the till, brushing a blonde curl out of her eyes, "Are you going to have anything to eat while you're here?"

"Sachertorte. And churros for Antonio." he answered automatically, "But that man, he did not look American to me."

"He's not, but his boyfriend is. 'Was', I mean." she leaned in to whisper to him, "From what I could get out of him, I think they had a really bad break-up. So ... try to be nice to him, okay? He seems like a really sweet boy under the surface."

At that moment, a loud smashing that sounded uncannily like plates being knocked to the ground resonated from the kitchen, followed by a torrent of screamed profanities. Isabelle caught Roderich's eye and bit her lip, looking like she was torn between wincing and bursting into giggles.

"Speaking of boyfriends, how is your courtship going?" he asked to change the subject.

Recently, Isabelle had begun seeing a new man whom she seemed genuinely serious about- or serious enough to introduce to him and Antonio at any rate. In truth, Roderich had found his manner about as welcoming as having a loaded gun pointed to his head, but he and Isabelle were clearly head-over-heels for each other. Indeed, Isabelle let a mischievous cat-like grin spread over her face.

"Oh, it's going _so_ well, he really is incredible. Y'know, he even asked me to move in with him a while ago." she removed the cover from the sachertorte on display and cut a generous slice, "Honestly I can't wait to leave that cramped little flat. His house is so spacious and modern. I suppose that's to be expected, given how concerned he is about money."

"Well, the two of you must come over for dinner some time." Roderich said, "I'll make sure Antonio agrees to it, I promise."

His offer was not merely one of courtesy. Over the years he'd come to see dinner parties as key events of social intrigue; a chance to display a front of wealth and class whilst secretly evaluating the true character of the guests through the guise of a few glasses of wine. Besides, since Antonio's general attitude towards Isabelle's boyfriend had been somewhat less than accepting, this could at least be an opportunity to smooth relations between the two of them.

"Thanks, Roddy." Isabelle smiled as she placed two plates of cake on the counter in front of him, "I'd like that very much... and I appreciate the gesture too."

The tingle of a bell over the cafe gave them both a start, signalling another customer's arrival. Sure enough, Roderich turned to see Antonio standing in the doorway, breathless and almost bent over double, but flushed with accomplishment. He made his way over to the counter upon recovery, failing to mask his air of smug anticipation even as he greeted the two of them with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek respectively.

"Sorry about that, Roddy!" he said, taking out his wallet to pay for their cake, "Just got a bit caught up, you know what it's like."

"I see..."

"Well, we can't have you two waiting any longer then," Isabelle said and turned to call behind her, "Coffees, Lovino!"

There was an audible grunt from the kitchen, then the door swung open violently, as if it had been kicked. The new waiter emerged with a glass of coffee in each hand; Antonio's mixed with rum and brandy, Roderich's topped with liberal amounts of whipped cream. Immediately, Antonio perked his head up, evidently delighted as ever at the prospect of meeting someone different.

"Oh, hey there! I haven't seen you here before."

The man sent a surly nod of recognition in his direction as he loaded the coffees and cakes onto a tray.

"I guess you must be new, then." Antonio tried again, his smile wide and engaging, "Enjoying the job?"

"Yeah." this time, the man didn't even glance in their direction, looking up to Isabelle instead, "Where am I taking these, exactly?"

"Just over there- there's a table free by the window." she pointed it out, then winked at Antonio and Roderich, "See you later, you two. And enjoy your coffee!"

Roderich sank into a half-bow of farewell then followed the waiter across the cafe. Antonio walked close in front, continuing to chatter with the doomed attempt at conversation.

"So, have you been working here long?"

"No."

"Aww, are you finding it hard settling in?"

"Not really."

Hearing him rabbit on made Roderich's insides squirm in shame. Quite why his boyfriend had to do this to every single person he met, he did not know.

"That's good, then! Oooh, whereabouts are you from? Originally, I mean."

The waiter slammed the tray down onto the designated table and unloaded the coffees with irritable vigour.

"South Italy."

"Ah, cool! It's so beautiful there." Antonio sighed , then tugged the man's shirt sleeve teasingly, "Hey, you must be really good with the ladies, right? I bet you've got yourself a lovely girlfriend. Or boyfriend, I guess, if you-"

But the line which he had been skirting dangerously close too had now been well and truly crossed. Roderich bit back a cringe as the waiter snapped around, facing Antonio directly, his teeth gritted and a pained blazing in his eyes.

"_Look_, you thick fuck," he said, his face flushed with fury, "Will you just stop with all the _damn questions_?!"

Antonio sprang back like he'd been burnt.

"Ah, I-I'm so sorry. I swear I didn't mean to upset- I guess I was being a bit- ah..." he trailed off and rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, "I'm really sorry if I offended you."

The waiter whipped the tray into his hands and flashed Antonio a look which suggested that there was nothing he'd have liked better than to smash it over his head.

"Apology accepted."

He stormed back towards the counter without a second glance, leaving Antonio stunned and forlorn.

"Wow... I guess he doesn't want to be friends then. Surely I can't have been _that_ bad..." he seemed to grow suddenly panicked at the thought, "I wasn't that bad, was I, Roddy?"

His expression was lost and lovably-foolish, remarkably like that a wounded puppy. In fact, it was only by reminding himself that a public cafe was certainly not the appropriate place to display unnecessary emotion that Roderich was able to resist embracing him.

"A word of advice," he pulled out Antonio's chair before taking a seat of his own, "Not _everyone_ appreciates excessive cheeriness."

Slumping down, Antonio ruffled his floppy hair and grinned sheepishly.

"Ah well, we can't let that ruin the afternoon. Especially since..." he cleared his throat shyly, "Especially since I've, um, got something for you."

Roderich did his best to feign surprise.

"Really? What is it, exactly?"

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a clumsily-wrapped and somewhat squashed little package and pushed it eagerly in his direction.

"Here. Happy Birthday, Roderich."

"Oh, Antonio!" he cradled the present between his fingers, half exasperated, half genuinely touched, "And there was me thinking you had forgotten."

At this point, Antonio flushed, looking more guilty than ever.

"Well, the truth is... I kind of did. But Belle sent me a reminder text this morning, so it's all good. W-what is it? Did I do something wrong?" he added hastily as Roderich covered his face with his hand.

"No, it's just... you really can be such a hopeless scatterbrain sometimes, I hope you know that."

"Yeah, I know. But a good kind of scatter-brained, right?" he gulped his coffee and nudged Roderich's arm, "Go on then, open it!"

"Very well, then." Roderich's quick fingers made light work of the paper, carefully pealing back the edges until a small box slid out. He raised his eyebrows in curiosity and glanced back towards Antonio who nodded hopefully, barely able to contain his

excitement. Finally, he pulled off the lid and glanced in.

"M-my word..."

Inside the box was a locket, a highly ornate one at that, with a pearly-white face engraved with little music notes and a silver chain. Breathless, Roderich lifted it out and let it rest in his palm, glistening. Noticing a clip along the side, he unfastened it and the locket sprang open at his touch. Roderich gave a start. On one side was the very same picture that they had taken in the photo booth; with him faking a smile and Antonio so carelessly handsome that it hurt to look at. The other side, however, was smoothly polished and would have been empty, had it not been for the inscription.

'Forever and always.'

The message was so simple, yet sheer impact of the meaning behind it sent tingles dancing up Roderich's palms. His throat felt strangely constricted and he swallowed hard in attempt to clear it, his vision blurring slightly. Across the table, Antonio watched intently for a reaction with his chin rested on his palms.

"I chose it for the inscription mostly. Because... it's like our love." his voice was soft and husky, whispering a message meant for him alone, "I'll love you forever and always, and I know that's how you feel about me too." At the lack of response, his eyes widened worriedly, "Ah, don't you like it? I know I bought it on the spur of the moment, and it's not very thoughtful or-"

"Antonio," Roderich silenced him with a croaky murmur, "Believe me when I tell you that this is the most precious treasure I could ever hope to hold." He unclipped the chain and attached it around his neck, slipping it underneath his shirt. The cool of the surface stroked his skin; a constant reminder, but by no means an uncomfortable one.

"There, now it's resting above my heart, forever and always. Just as you said."

To be quite honest, he had no idea what had provoked him into such an uncustomary fit of sentimentality- perhaps Antonio's mood was contagious. Nonetheless, his boyfriend looked wild with delight, as if he didn't know whether to hug him or break down into tears. He compensated by taking a huge gulp of coffee, accidently sloshing some of it down his chin. Roderich tutted and dug into his pocket for a clean handkerchief.

"Good God, Antonio," he said, dabbing his face gently, "Trust you to ruin a moment like this."

Antonio said nothing, but simply waited for him to finish the cleaning ritual and return his handkerchief whilst staring deeply into his eyes. His gaze was ardent and desperate, speaking of endless love and passion with the irresistibility that only a Latin man could hope to achieve. As he leaned in,

Roderich realised what he was attempting and pushed a finger against his mouth firmly.

"Not now, we're in full view of everyone, for goodness sake!"

Antonio sighed dejectedly, his breath a pleasant wash of coffee against Roderich's lips.

"You know," he reached out to caress the other's cheek with his thumb, "I think it's time you learnt to loosen up a little, don't you?"

Then his eyes flickered shut and he closed the gap between them. Although the tips of his ears were burning with shame, Roderich did nothing to deter his boyfriend as he claimed his mouth fiercely. And if he perhaps reciprocated the gesture a little, intertwining his tongue with Antonio's to deepen the kiss, well, who was to know?

It could have been hours before they broke away, days even; Roderich's head was in such a daze that he could barely tell. He took a sip of coffee to steady himself, while Antonio watched him smugly.

"Did _that_ feel pleasing, then?" he asked, his tone heavy with mockery, "Better than the one earlier?"

"It... did." Roderich refused to meet his eye.

"That's good," he relaxed back in his chair, lazily contented, "Because I liked it too. It felt different from normal."

Roderich said nothing in response, yet the words rang true. At home, their kisses often had a sense of excitement and urgency about them, yet never quite in that way- so frantic and reckless and meaningful.

* * *

It was only hours later, when he lay in bed contemplating with Antonio's head snuggled up into his chest, did he realise with a jolt the implications of that particular kiss. It was the kiss that sealed the promise; his promise to love Antonio forever.

And, though the revelation should have been a comfort or a source of sheer euphoria, the very thought sent of a chill of foreboding through him.

* * *

***Heh, expect updates to be quite slow on this. It seems to take me forever to write stuff. Anyway, few things to note: firstly, the tense change was intentional as this is in the past term, secondly, I know this chapter was kind of calm, but I wanted to show how the relationship was very happy at one point.**

**Also, Einspanner and Carajillo are famous coffees in Austria and Spain respectively. And 'gaufre' means in 'waffle' French.***


	3. The things he couldn't do

Antonio hadn't meant to fall asleep. An afternoon of intensive cooking had left him thoughrally exhausted and he'd only intended to crash onto the sofa for a five minute break at the most.

So when he found himself being roughly shaken out of a deep slumber, hours later, the realisation was understandably gradual.

"Antonio!"

"Mmmphhhh."

"For goodness sake, wake up, you fool!"

"Whassmatter-?"

Another insistent tug on his shoulder and his eyes flickered open, assaulted by the stinging brightness of the lamplight. He sat up groggily, massaging at the heavy throbbing in the back of his head, and tried to remember what he was doing there. Had been out drinking again? It certainly felt like it, but the lack of an alcoholic tinge upon his tongue told him otherwise. Maybe he'd just overslept a little... yeah, that was it. He rubbed his blearily eyes and his boyfriend's face swam into vision, hardened uncompromisingly. Antonio's heart sunk. He knew exactly what that face meant.

Sure enough, as soon as their eyes met, Roderich immediately launched into haughty rant mode.

"Dear God, Antonio, you had better have a very good excuse for this!"

"Wasn't sleeping." he insisted, still a little hazy, "I was just-"

"Resting your eyes?" Roderich's voice was pitiless, "Well, I don't know whether this occurred to you or not, but we have a /highly important/ event to attend to in just a matter of minutes."

Antonio frowned before noticing that Roderich was wearing attire even more formal than usual, dressed in the waistcoat, jabot and velvet tailcoat normally reserved for his orchestral performances. Then the recollection sank in.

"Oh, right, the dinner party! But that's not for hours yet, how can..." he trailed off as Roderich thrust back his sleeve to reveal the face of his silver wristwatch. His eyes widened. "It's half-past seven already?!"

"Exactly. Half an hour to go until Isabelle and Vash arrive and I find you lying here, unwashed, unchanged and fast asleep?" he folded his arms and let out a tetchy huff, "You're completely hopeless, aren't you?"

His tone was irritable, but Antonio could detect whispers of anxiety hidden beneath the surface. And that was the trouble with Roderich; he was so prone to getting himself worked up over any event where he considered his prestige to be at stake, nearly to the point of descending into hysteria. Initially, Antonio had tried to persuade him that none of it mattered, that nobody really cared about the which cutlery he used or the type of sauce he served with the meat, but he'd long given up.

"Sorry! I guess I lost track of the time," he pulled himself to his feet, stretching, "Cooking just makes me tired, y'know."

At the mention of food, Roderich's previously stern expression stiffened as if he'd seen a ghost.

"You- you did remember to prepare your _tapas_, didn't you?"

"Of course I did!" "What about the _fabada_?"

"Mmhmmm. Just needs to be heated up now."

"And your _pinchitos_?"

"Yep, they were the first ones I-" the sudden jarring memory stunned him into silence and his heart turned over like a dead fish. He might have _prepared_ the skewers well enough, carefully chopping up the fresh meat and arranging them onto sticks, but as for the actual cooking part...

"I-I didn't put them on the grill." he admitted, "They're... still raw."

He didn't dare to look at Roderich, but he could almost feel the pressure building inside him. It was the explosion waiting to happen, threatening to throw his perfectly composed boyfriend over the brink.

"A-and how long do they take to cook exactly?" When he spoke, there were quavers racking his voice.

"An hour at least..."

"You idiot."

He said the words so quietly, so precisely, that for a moment Antonio thought he might have gotten away with it. Tentative, he looked up and his blood turned cold at the sight of the stark fury manifesting itself in the lines of Roderich's face.

"You. Utter. And. Complete. IDIOT!" he shouted the last word with enough ferocity to make Anotnio flinch, "How dare you be so negligent?! How _dare_ you let me down on an evening like this?! Do you have any idea, any idea at all, what this means to me?!" He ran his hands through his perfectly-smoothed hair (minus the unruly curl) despairingly, "Good grief, I wonder why I'm with you sometimes."

Antonio said nothing, but let the rage wash over him, trying not to let it manipulate his feelings into hurt. 'It's just because he's so agitated,' he reminded himself, 'He'll have calmed down again once this is all over.'

"I'm sorry." he said, as sincerely as he could, once the silence seemed to be inviting him to speak, "Maybe if I put them on the grill now they'll heat up in time."

He motioned to leave, but Roderich caught him by the arm. His nails dug fiercely into the skin with the tension.

"No. God knows you've caused enough trouble as it is. _I'll_ put them on the grill." he released Antonio's arm and nodded towards the staircase, "As for you, I refuse to have you looking so scruffy. Get upstairs and make yourself look presentable at once!"

Like a rabbit bolting from the headlights, Antonio went.

* * *

"More wine, Isabelle?"

Belle glanced wistfully from the bottle in Roderich's hand to her depleting glass and pouted.

"Hmmm, I'm not sure if I should... I mean, we haven't even started eating yet."

"Belle, you should treat yourself!" Antonio said, "It's not every day you get to taste wine like this."

He drained his own glass to demonstrate and set in down, resisting the urge not to fiddle with his cufflinks. After what had been the hastiest shower and hair wash of his life, he'd practically raided his wardrobe for something to wear that wouldn't shame his boyfriend further, but nothing he owned could really be descirbed as Roderich's idea of 'suitable'. In the end, he'd decided to play safe and borrowed one of Roddy's spare concert shirts and the tomato-pattened tie he'd given him last Christmas.

Trouble was, Roderich's slender frame was a good deal slimmer than his and he could feel the material protesting uncomfortably every time he drew breath. That, and the linen itched. Like mad.

"Oh, go on, then! It's the weekend tomorrow, I suppose." she held her glass out and Roderich filled it with exaggerated dignity. He stood back like the perfect waiter and waited for her nod of approval before moving on to her... companion.

"Vash? Any for you?" The man stroked his chin in absent-minded thoughtfulness.

"No. I think I've had enough for tonight." he looped an arm over Belle's shoulder and hauled her close, "After all, _someone's_ got to be sober enough to drive home."

The firm kiss he planted on her neckline was enough to make her squeal, re-igniting Antonio's dull embers of annoyance. When Belle had told him she was dating again he had of course been delighted, but from the moment he'd first met the guy, the alarm bells had been blaring full-blast. He couldn't think of anyone less suitable for such a sweet young lady; he was too rough, too cheap, and the fact that he worked as a security guard at the local bank just capped it all. Antonio was trying his upmost to be happy for them, but spending an evening watching him jostling Belle- his Belle- around like this was severely testing his limits.

Mostly to give himself something to take his mind off them, he got up from the table to check on the cooking _pinchitos_. The pink tinge on the surface of the meat as he turned them over confirmed what he already knew- that they were nowhere near ready to eat yet. And, despite this, he knew the pressure was on to serve them soon. Their guests were probably getting impatient, which was a sure-fire way of making poor Roderich crack.

"This wine must have been damn expensive, though." he could hear Vash saying, "Did you choose it, Roderich? You look like a bit of a wine connoisseur."

"Well, I certainly-"

"Actually, it was very cheap!" Antonio slid the _pinchitos_ back under the grill, "And Francis was the one who helped us pick it out. Roddy prefers beer really, whatever he says."

His interjection earned him a hearty laugh from both Belle and Vash, but knew the moment after he blurted it out that he'd made a huge mistake. The swift glare that Roderich shot him across the kitchen was icy and sharpened with resentment like the cold steel of a rapier. Antonio's heart plummeted sickeningly. Had he put his foot in it again? Had he messed up whatever social façade Roddy wanted to present? It was difficult for him to understand his boyfriend sometimes, and his repressed emotions often needed a lot of coaxing to the surface before he could work them out, but there was no mistaking that motrified blush enflaming his face.

"And there was me thinking you were a man of refinement, Roderich." Vash chuckled, "Well, I suppose all looks can be deceiving."

"Vash!" Belle nudged him, "I'm sure he doesn't get drunk _that_ often."

Roderich closed his eyes momentarily and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was almost like he was hoping that the room would have disappeared completely by the time he opened them again. Guilt bubbled in the pit of Antonio's stomach and he fought to get in a good word about his boyfriend to amend the damage.

"Actually, um, Roddy does know lots of stuff about wine and, er, he's also really classy, and-"

"Antonio." Roderich's voice was so measured that it sounded dangerous, "Nobody wants to listen to your foolish rambles. I think it would be better if you brought out the main course, don't you?"

As much as he could tell that the delay was stressing him, the honest answer was 'no'. If he tried to serve the meat now, it was highly likely that everyone would spend tomorrow morning glued to the toilet, and there would be a reason for Vash to hate them even more than he already did.

"But it hasn't finished-"

"Come now. Everyone's waiting."

"... Right."

It was against his better judgement, and would probably come back to haunt him later, but Antonio couldn't bear to let Roderich down again. Biting his lip, he removed the _pinchitos_ from under the grill prematurely and arranged them on a waiting plate face-down. At least now they had the illusion of being well-cooked. In the centre of the plate, he placed his bowl of _fabada_ and seasoned it with pepper, silently praying that Vash and Belle would choose the bean stew over the meat skewers. Little hope of that.

"Okay everyone," he laid the plate in the middle of the table, "Dig in and- oof!"

Roderich had nudged him pointedly in the side, in a way which suggested he was either being incredibly stupid, incredibly rude or both. Antonio leaned down to his level and Roderich hissed into his ear.

"This is a dinner party, not a common buffet, you fool. Serve the guests yourself."

"Oh!" he hastened to pick up the plate again and scrambled to get to Belle's side first, "I mean, um, m-may I help you to some _fabada_?"

Antonio's hands were shaking as he dished out generous portions of the beans and what he hoped were the choicest, least-poisonous _pinchitos_ to Belle and Vash. His nerves, though, were nowhere near as tattered as Roderich's seemed. His arms were folded across each other, his fingers tapping out dramatic concertos over his biceps which Antonio had come to intepret that as a sign of anxiety. Beads of sweat were vandalising his forehead too, so thickly that no amount of his surrupticious dabbing with a napkin could stem them. Once again, Antonio found himself wondering why Roderich would knowingly and willingly put himself under so much obvious strain. Was it his _intention_ to give himself a heart attack?

Having finished his waiting service, he returned to his seat and Roderich motioned for them to begin. It irritated Antonio to see him scraping the meat from the skewers before eating it with a knife and fork. A sophisticated occasion this might be, but was his boyfriend such a snob that he couldn't even be prepared to eat _pinchitos_ the proper way?

"So, how is that new waiter settling in?" Roderich said after a few mouthfuls had been eaten in silence.

It was small-talk rather than genuine interest, Antonio knew; the key to the art of polite conversation. Yet he couldn't help feeling interested in how the boy (Lov- Loviono? Was that his name?) was getting on. He hadn't dared to speak to him since their fateful first encounter, but he always seemed to be around whenever they went into the cafe these days, throwing them dirty glances every so often from behind the counter.

"Lovi? Oh, he's fine." Belle twirled her fork as she spoke, "At least, I think he's fine. He doesn't work many shifts, actually."

"Really?!" said Antonio, "He was there every day we visited last week."

"Yeah, and that's because you're always in at the same time! The afternoon shift is about the only one he bothers turning up for."

"Lazy bastard," Vash muttered through chewing, "You should get rid of him, Belle. Hire someone more reliable."

She shook her head. "That would be so mean! He's just moved to a foreign country all on his own."

"So? Doesn't matter if he's not a good worker."

Belle sighed instead of arguing further, and the four of them lapsed into silence. After braving what he had assessed to be the most raw-looking _pinchito_ on the plate, Antonio had been relieved to discover that it was cooked in the middle, if a little on the tender side, and his confidence in the cooking renewed. Maybe it would end up alright after all. He found himself relaxing under the reassurance; the apprehensive, naughty-schoolchild feeling beginning to smooth out. He only wished that the same could be said for Roderich. His boyfriend was sitting so rigidly that his bones could have been made of metal and there wouldn't have been any difference in his posture.

"Hmm." Vasch said after a moment, "These skewer things _are_ quite nice, I have to admit. I'm glad I came now; I could make these at home."

Belle winked at him teasingly. "Come off it! We all know the reason you're sticking around is for the free food."

"Well... maybe that too."

The flippancy he said it with left Antonio so aghast that his jaw nearly dropped open. Wow. And he had considered _Roddy_ a cheapstake for sewing up old underwear. He had half a mind to jab his finished squewer into Vash's arm for being such a stingy prick, but, with the thought of Roderich having a nervous breakdown, he was able to force a smile.

"Thanks! They turned out a lot better than I expected, actually, I thought they needed more time to- ow!" from underneath the table, Roderich's foot made hard contact with his shin and he hastily changed course, "I- um- it's really good that you're enjoying them."

but none of them seemed to do. Instead, he left it to Roderich, who was clearly more in his element, to strike up a discussion with Vash about his new house. This quickly prompted him to drone on about the positives and negatives or modern architecture absent-mindedly.

A minute or two later, the soft sound of coughing caught his attenion. Curious, he looked up and fear jolted his insides as he saw the very thing he'd been praying so hard not to. Belle was bent double over her plate, her hands covering her mouth as she hacked and spluttered. A half-eaten skewer rested on her plate and the meat inside looked abnoramlly pink.

"Belle!"

His concern was enough to rouse Roderich and Vash from their conversation.

"Good grief, Isabelle, are you alright?"

"Hey, are you chocking? Cough it up, come on!"

Her eyes squeezed tightly shut, Belle fumbled for a napkin and held it to her mouth to spit something out.

"S-sorry about that." she said, gasping, and awkwardly deposited a half-chewed morsel on the side of her plate, "It was just that one piece of meat... it didn't agree with me, I guess."

Antonio's heart sank so far down he could almost feel it festering in his shoes. Over the table, Roderich remained as composed as ever, but a just-about audible huff gave away his true feelings.

"Hrmm, sure it was just that piece?" Vash picked up the pinchito and examined it, before letting out a strained exclamation, "What the-? This thing is totally raw!"

Before Antonio could even begin to think up an explanation, Vash was scrambling to cut open a piece of his own meat. This time, there was no surprise in his face as he made the same discovery. Only steadily bubbling anger.

"Look, I'm sure it's just a mistake!" Belle said urgently, fearfully almost, "Please don't get-"

But she hadn't even finished her sentence when her boyfriend sprung to his feet, shaking all over. Turning to Roderich in the seat on the other side of his, he reached out and grabbed him threateningly by the jabot.

"What the _hell_ are you serving us, Edelstein?! Are you trying to poison us with this undercooked shit?! Are you?!"

With every sentence, he yanked Roderich more and more aggresively, reducing him a choked and flustered mess.

"I- _ugghhh_- assure you, I-"

"Look, I'm not an idiot. I can tell you don't like me, not that I give a crap about _your_ opinion. But bringing Belle into it too?" he spat to reinforce his disgust, "God, I didn't think you'd stoop as low as that!"

For Antonio, seeing the scene unfolding was like stumbling across a car accident; watching was almost unbearable, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away. Roderich's face was particually prominent and, if he'd been asked to describe the expression, he'd have aproximated it to the sheer desire to evaporate on the spot.

"Actually... it's my fault." he heard himself saying. "

But, as far as Vash seemed concerned, apolagies were apprently meaningless.

"You? Hah, I might have known."

He finally let go of Roderich, who released a stangled gasp of relief and turned to face him over the table. For a moment, Antonio was sure that he was going to reach across for his tie and start sufforcating him too, but the glare he flashed him and the way he pounded his hands on the wooden surface was intimidating enough as it was.

"Y'know, I always thought you seemed like a dense idiot. And, damn it, I was right, wasn't I?" he narrowed his eyes and looked down at Belle who had her head hidden in her hands, "Well, next time Mr Thicko here decides to cook, you can be sure as hell that I won't be coming."

It took all of Belle and Roderich's best efforts to persuade him that it had been an innocent accident and that there was no point in getting angry. Antonio considered the fact that Vash eventually returned to his seat without carrying out any acts of violence something of a success. Annoyingly, though, he refused to eat another bite- regardless of Antonio's repeated insistences that the _fabada_ at least had been cooked to perfection- and made Belle do the same.

With the strain evident, Roderich attempted to set the dinner party back on track again by cutting the main course short and bringing out a magnificent apple strudel with pastry so crisp and flaky that not even Vash could refuse it. It was every bit as delicious as it looked too, the tanginess of the apples in perfect contrast to the sweet sultanas and sugary outer anything, that just made Antonio feel all the more guilty.

The conversation at that point was quick to shift at that point to Roderich's work as lead violinist at the philomonic orchestra. It was a well-chosen topic, Antonio thought, one that his boyfriend never seemed to tire of boasting or recounting every miniscule detail about, even to him. At Belle's request, he even serenaded them on the piano while they drank their coffees. Antonio listened in the same inexperienced reverence as ever; not recognising the piece or its composer but basking in the clear flawlessness of the music nonetheless.

Roderich's fingers quickstepped so rapidly over the notes that it looked like his hands were undergoing some kind of seizure, yet for all the intensity there was a jovial, slightly show off-y tone to the playing too. Antonio was only left to wonder how he was able to achieve it while under the stress that dinner parties gave him.

After a dramatic conclusion, Roderich rose smugly from the bench to a smattering of applause.

"Which piece was _that_?" Belle asked.

"Joseph Haydn, Piano Concerto in F major." came the automatic reply, "I played it perfectly, of course, but it sounds a good deal better with the orchestral accompanyment, if you ever care to-"

He trailed off at the sound of Vash's exasperated snort.

* * *

When they were preparing to host Belle and Vash a few days before, Roderich had told Antonio that he expected them to stay until well-past midnight, but by ten o'clock, their guests were already leaving. Even the farewells were brief; a toned-down-in-front-of-Vash hug with a kiss on the cheek for Belle, and the most awkward handshake Antonio had ever participated in for Vash, in which his fingers were unashamedly crushed.

"It's been a pleasure to have you." Roderich lie was so smooth that Antonio would have believed it himself had he not witnessed his earlier fit, "We must remember to invite you over again another time."

"Well, I think it'll be our turn to host next," Belle looped her arm into her boyfriend's and giggled, "That is, if I can Mr Grumpy-Pants here to agree."

"Hmmm, perhaps," Vash said, although he looked less than delighted at the prospect, "Look, I can't say I was impressed by everything tonight, but it was nice to get a free meal, all the same. And a free concert performance too; we don't even need to see the orchestra now."

Belle flicked him on the nose with affectionate scolding before Roderich or Antonio could retort.

"Shut it, you! There's no need to take your frugality out on everyone, we had a wonderful evening!"

"Hey, I'm just trying to be practial."

Belle rolled her eyes, and exchanged final goodbyes with the two of them, then Roderich opened the door and the couple departed.

Only after Belle and Vash had gotten into their car and driven away did Roderich close the front door and let out a deep, shuddering sigh.

"Oh God! What a disaster!" he sank slowly until his back rested against the doorframe, his head cradled in his hands, "What an absolute catastrophe!"

He began to laugh then, choking out racking guffaws that were terrifying for their humourlessness. Antonio watched him quietly, unsure what to do. He'd been fully expecting Roderich to rage like he had earlier, and he had all his comebacks ready, but watching him shrink down in despair like a deflating balloon was so much worse. He wondered whether he should apolagise again. Some of the mistakes tonight had certainly been his fault, but it felt like that was all he'd been doing the entire evening, for all the good that it had done.

It took a moment longer for Roderich's morose laughter to stop. Kneeling by his side, Antonio put an arm around his shoulder gingerly. He judged it as a good sign that Roderich didn't throw it off, but his shoulders were tensed like blocks of stone to the point that it was scarily inhuman.

"Roddy...?"

There was no answer.

"Roderich, please..."

"I do not blame you, Antonio," Roderich's voice was muffled against his hands, "If anything, it was my own fault. What a fool I was, thinking you were organised and sophisticated enough to host a high-class dinner party."

The words were crushing, like a ton of snide and disdainful bricks. Mostly because Antonio knew that they were true.

"I tried." he said, breathing his hurt into Roderich's ear, "I followed every single order you gave me."

"I know you did." Roderich raised his head, teeth gritted, "You always try so hard. Maybe that's the reason why I love you."

They sat together like that for an eternity or more, the weary silence thick with unease. Antonio's hands tenderly rubbed up and down his boyfriend's shoulders in attempt to soften them, and his fingers brushed against the cold chain of the birthday locket. Unable to soothe him, he finally planted a tempting kiss against the back of his neck before leaning up to nibble his ear.

"Roddy, it was only a little dinner party. There's no need to get so upset about it." he whispered, "Why don't you come upstairs instead."

He fondled the lobe between his teeth, knowing how sensetive Roderich was there, knowing how this kind of teasing foreplay never failed to drive him mad. But this time, Roderich pulled away gently and stood up, adjusting his glasses.

"You go, Antonio, I'll be up later on." he held out his hand, "I'd just like to play for a bit first... settle my nerves."

Antonio took the offered hand and allowed himself to be helped to his feet.

"Okay."

He watched Roderich stride off in the direction of his music room, closing the door behind him with a sharp click. An unbearable sense of solitude started nagging at his insides. Not because of the rejection, or the aloofness or even from the anguish of his own shortcomings, but because he knew that Roderich had gone and that he could not follow.


	4. Communications

'Not his best day' was probably something of an understatement, Roderich thought as he lugged his violin case through the pouring rain.

He supposed he should have suspected that God had something nasty in store for him from the moment he woke up- an hour later than usual in a cold and empty bed. There was a hastily-scribbled note waiting for him on Antonio's pillow; something about an early plumbing appointment that he'd forgotten to mention until now. It was hopelessly childish, he knew, but in between the panic of lateness and the thought of potentially missing his train, Roderich couldn't help but feel slightly put-out that Antonio hadn't woken him for a goodbye kiss.

In the end, he'd been forced to skip breakfast and run to the station in order to arrive in time. Both of which were habits he despised. Routine and orderliness were sacred to Roderich, and having them jostled around against his will left him immensely agitated, not to mention provoking that niggling ache of hunger in the pit of his stomach. To further add to his woes, the train service just so _happened_ to have chosen that particular morning to indulge in scream-inducing slowness. When he finally arrived at the hall, hurried and flustered, he barely had time to tune his violin properly before practice began.

It was evident that the brief tuning was insufficient when the orchestra started. Roderich was mortified to hear the irritating half-off-key whine his instrument produced- just about prominent enough to be noticeable. After the first half-hour, the conductor had deliberately stopped the practice just to demand that he correct the violin in another room before they proceeded. Roderich had trudged out of the main hall, shamefaced, amidst tuts and sniggers from his fellow musicians.

Things had picked up after he returned, at least enough to go smoothly until they concluded for lunch. Roderich had been anticipating the break, eager to tend to his neglected stomach, but to his dismay, the only available table was next to the one occupied by the flutist from Eastern Europe. Roderich was sure that she was a charming lady, deep down, but it was true that she did draw a very blurred line between beautiful and intimidating. More importantly, she was the strictest Catholic he'd ever come to know. They'd managed to get along relatively well when she'd first joined the orchestra, mostly on the basis of his holding back certain... facts about himself. Openly discussing one's bisexuality was rarely proper behaviour, after all. But the deterioration in their relations was inevitable ultimately, and came only two weeks later, after the poor girl had unsuspectedly walked in on one of Antonio's 'good luck presents' in his dressing room ten minutes before their concert began. Her screams had been so prominent that Roderich could recall the exact volume and pitch even now.

So it was little surprise when she proceeded to spend the whole of lunchtime assaulting him with every possible lewd synonym of 'homosexual' imaginable. He did his best to dully ignore the abuse- refusing to rise to it, refusing to show signs of weakness, refusing even to point out that she was only half-right. But in truth, her words pained him more than he cared to admit.

The afternoon practice had been better, thank God. Towards the end, though, he found his concentration slipping, already worn by the day's exhausting trails. The piece they were refining was a particularly tricky one of Strauss', and several members of the brass section were consistently off with their timing. As a result, they'd all been required to work forty-five minutes overtime to perfect it, by which point Roderich had already missed the last direct train home. The alternative one he'd taken was a fast-train that only stopped at the station before his, which would force him to walk the remaining distance alone. It was only a short distance, granted, but Roderich's heart sank at the prospect of walking through all those twisting streets. It was if they were deliberately _trying_ to get him lost, sometimes.

If he had known then what was to come, he would have considered it so unthankful to be grumbling.

A few minutes into his journey, the soft notes of his harp-based ringtone trickled from inside his pocket. Roderich had hoped for a fleeting moment that the caller might be Antonio before remembering how rarely he remembered to charge, top-up and even carry his phone. His disappointment had quickly changed to surprise as he took out the mobile and was greeted by a name popping up on the screen that he had neither seen nor considered for months; 'Ludwig Beilschmidt'. A cousin of his, living in Berlin now, whom he'd never been especially close to.

His brows furrowed in frustration as he answered the call, but when the conversation started, his frown lines set in all the more thickly. And for an entirely different reason. As it turned out, an uncle who had only been in his fifties had passed away from a stroke the night before. Ludwig was brief and to-the-point about the news with his usual military crispness; giving him an overview of the details and a date for the funeral next month. Although Roderich had not seen or spoken to the uncle in years, the sudden recall of fond childhood memories was enough to set a cold thump to his heart. Worse still was the overwhelming sense of mortality suddenly consuming him. The thought that, one day, he or Antonio would be no more than a collection of memories for the other to reflect upon. It was a concept so alien and so frightening that Roderich was stunned into transfixed silence for the rest of the journey. Only when they reached the station did he move again and stepped onto the platform in a zombie-like daze.

The skies had been brooding all day, threatening turbulence with their knotted grey clouds. Yet it seemed to Roderich as if they'd just been waiting the entire time for this moment to burst open with full vengeance. He might have screamed and cursed the weather had it happened earlier on, but by that point he was too weak, too weary to do much more than acknowledge the rain and wish vaguely that he'd brought an umbrella. In a quick judgement, he'd decided that his violin was more important than his health, so had taken off his overcoat and draped it around the case.

All this meant was that his arms and chest were far more exposed to the fury of elements. His thin cotton shirt was quickly soaked through and his hair similarly drenched. Droplets swelled at the tips of his fringe, dripping off to catch on the lenses of his glasses. Roderich wasn't sure whether it was the result of getting water-logged or just because of the biting mid-November wind, but the chill ran bone-deep, causing him to hunch over and shiver like a solitary leaf. As he shuffled and hauled his case, Roderich couldn't help but feel as though it was costing him a good deal more effort than usual and his heart sunk as he contemplated the possibility that he might be getting ill. There was a prickly feeling in the corners of his eyes and his throat nagged with every swallow. An irritatingly reliable prediction of viral infection. Twice, he had to set down the violin case and scramble for his embroidered handkerchief in order to muffle a barrage of harsh and sudden sneezes.

By the time he finally arrived on the doorstep of their house, Roderich was just about ready to collapse. It was a relief that nobody had been out to see him in such a state; dishevelled and helpless and sodden as a drowned cat. Yet his spirits lifted slightly at the thought of Antonio waiting for him at home; Antonio who was always so good at taking care of him when he needed it. He remembered the last time, several months ago now, when he'd returned from a day like this, almost tearful in despair. Antonio had not said anything, but swept him into his arms with the honest, passionate tenderness that Roderich so often forgot to appreciate and promptly carried him upstairs. Their... _lovemaking_ that night had been slower than usual, and Antonio had topped him in a way he'd never experienced before; heaping attention and comfort and adoration upon every last inch of his body. 'Satisfaction' barely came close to describing the emotions he'd gone through.

To be honest, Roderich doubted that he'd done much to deserve that sort treatment recently. He'd been nothing more than- in the words of one of Antonio's boorish friends- his usual hoity-toity self. And yet, he couldn't help but hope for it.

He considered lazily ringing the doorbell and getting Antonio to let him in, but unlocking the door himself always gave him an unusual sense of self-sufficiency. Balancing his violin case between his knees, he slotted his key into the lock and turned it before stepping inside.

Roderich didn't have to call out or even slam the door to signal his arrival, for his boyfriend was already standing over by the other side of the hallway. For a fleeting second, his heart soared at the thought of Antonio waiting especially for him and the possibility of the evening playing out exactly as he'd fantasised. Then, as Antonio began rushing towards him, arms flailing, he noticed the wild burning gaze about his eyes. It was a look he had come to associate with madness- characteristic of all the times Antonio acted recklessly, or dreamed up idiotic and unworkable plans- that occasionally dominated his usual even-tempered nature. A look, in short, that could only mean trouble.

"Hey! Hey, Roddy, you'll never guess what happened today!"

He began talking before he'd even closed the door, neither kissing him, nor giving him any form of greeting.

"Y'know that plumbing job I had to do this morning? Well, guess who it was for, guess who?"

"I-I don't know." Roderich went over to the hallway cupboard to hang his coat, the side of his body within touching distance of Antonio's and his arm deliberately raised. It would be so easy for Antonio to reach out and latch his arms around his waist, so easy that it would feel the most natural action in the world. "Who was it?"

Yet Antonio did not hug him, but continued rabbiting on as if he was the first person he'd seen in ten years.

"Lovino! Y'know, that new waiter at Belle's Cafe. I had no idea he lived there, and he had no idea that I was the plumber he'd ordered. I mean, that's some serious coincidence, right?"

"I suppose it is."

Picking up his violin, he trudged off to his music room, Antonio in tow.

"I know! It was a bit awkward at first, 'cause he got kind of mad at me last time we met and everything, but we started talking while I was working, and we've actually got loads of stuff in common."

He waited for Roderich to return his violin to the correct place, and for a moment, Roderich thought that he might finally have assessed how he was feeling and stopped. But when he stepped back outside and began to make his way up the stairs, Antonio followed, as talkative as ever.

"Yeah, it turns out that he loves gardening just as much as I do! I wouldn't have thought it, from a rough-tough guy like him, but he used to own this huge allotment when he lived in America, and I think he's kind of disappointed that he can only have window-box plants in his flat now. I told him he should come over to our place- in the Spring, y'know- when the first flowers start coming up."

As impolite as Roderich knew it was to refuse guests, the very idea of Antonio's preposition stirred irritation inside him; something akin to an angry, bothersome itch. When the buds emerged last spring, Antonio had been as excited as a child at Christmas and insisted they tend to the garden. Roderich was opposed at first; it was not in his blood to dirty himself with a manual task. But with his boyfriend's persuasion, the two of them were soon walking between the flowerbeds hand-in-hand like lovers in paradise. Somehow, Antonio seemed all the more fetching in these moments- when he bent down to gently water a plant, or laughed at Roderich's wide-brimmed sunhat, or sat back proudly to admire their work with the sunlight glancing off his perfectly tanned skin. Roderich tried to visualise the memory again, but this time it was that new waiter, Lovino or whatever his name was, who stood by Antonio and praised his talents.

No, that wasn't right. It was their private garden, _theirs_, and nobody else, no matter who they were, had any business there.

"Anyway, we ended up talking for so long that it was time for his shift, so I walked down with him to the cafe and..."

Cafe Gaufre? When was the last time they'd been there together? A month ago, they used to drink at the Coffeehouse almost every day, but with their respective work schedules growing increasingly hectic, the visits had become infrequent.

"...coffee with him and Belle before the afternoon session started, and he told me so much about his life in America and about how..."

Roderich let the words drift over him meaninglessly as he opened the door of the airing cupboard. It occurred to him that it would be pleasant to take a bath if there was any hot water left, especially if he could coax Antonio in with him. The steam could have a highly soothing effect on one's nerves, he found. Even more soothing was the thought of Antonio's soapy hands sliding down his stomach and over his thighs with comforting seduction. Roderich suppressed a shiver of anticipation.

"...relationship was getting sort of strained, he said, and one day he just looked at it from a wider perspective and realised that they just weren't compatible, and he-"

"Antonio," Roderich cut across him. "Is there enough hot water for a bath?"

He shook his head. "Sorry, I had one myself earlier. I could turn the water on now if you like? It'll warm up in an hour or two."

Roderich sighed deeply. "There's no need to trouble yourself."

"But it wouldn't be any tr-"

"Seriously. Please don't bother."

Instead, he snatched up a towel from the rack and rubbed it over his hair while he walked over to their bedroom. To his irritation, Antonio continued to tag behind like some overly-excitable puppy, continuing to jabber pointlessly. Roderich vaguely heard cliché phrases like 'broken heart,' 'learnt from his mistakes,' and 'he's happier now,' but he paid them little attention.

Sitting on their bed, he began to unbutton his shirt. His exposed skin was covered in little goose pimples and threatened to break out into a violent fit of shivering as he pealed the drenched article of clothing off. He gritted his teeth to repress the urge and rummaged around in his chest of drawers for a dry replacement. Antonio had gone suddenly silent, and Roderich looked up hopefully. Surely now, he must have worked out how vulnerable he was feeling. But when Antonio's eyes met his, they held no recognition, nor sympathy, nor any acknowledgement that something might be amiss.

Evidently not then.

* * *

Dinner that night was something of a subdued affair. It had been Antonio's turn to cook, but in light of all the excitement of his day, he'd forgotten to prepare anything. Roderich had no choice but to serve the leftovers from the day before instead, though they were almost completely dried out with the re-heating.

The rain continued to pelt outside while he ate in silence, making the occasional indifferent 'hmmmm' in the pauses of Antonio's chattering. He wondered vaguely whether he had a right to feel so wounded about the fact that his boyfriend hadn't asked him a single question yet. Antonio would never intend to cause him any upset, after all; he was merely... oblivious. And it most definitely wasn't fair to demand attention from him all the time like some conceited Prince. God knew the poor boy had his work cut out already in having to deal with such an emotionally-challenging boyfriend.

But right at this moment, with his nose and throat tingling and the weight of a tragicomic day over his shoulders, all he wanted was a little comfort. Was that really so much to ask?

Antonio seemed alarmed when Roderich stood up right after they'd finished eating.

"Hey, where're you going? We haven't tied the plates away yet."

"The music room." he said, striding over the kitchen, "Join me, if you will."

"Well, I guess we could clear up later..." he left the table and jogged to catch up with Roderich in the hallway, "I dunno why you want to, though. I mean, you've been playing the violin all day, aren't you tired of music now?"

'Tired of music'. The ludicrousness of the notion almost made Roderich laugh before he realised that Antonio was being serious. Doubts twisted in his gut like ropes. Music was his one refuge- it soothed him, uncluttered his mind, enabled him to express what was impossible through words. His connection to the violin ran deep, and to the piano, even deeper, to the point where he could feel the notes coming to life under his fingers. Antonio _understood_ that, didn't he?

Too emotionally drained to snap at him, Roderich merely walked into the music room in uneasy silence.

Having little interest in Classical pieces himself, Antonio was not always around to listen to him practice. Whenever he did, though, he would often sit beside him on the piano bench, resting his head against Roderich's shoulder. Roderich always complained about how distracting that was, and Antonio would nod along earnestly, but five minutes later and he was at it again. Yet it something Roderich was secretly grateful for. It made playing rather more difficult, certainly, but the warm weight of his lover's head next to his in his most emotionally intense moments filled him with an uncustomary tingling. He wouldn't have exchanged that for the world.

It was no surprise today, however, when Antonio chose not to take his usual spot. He lingered in the doorway instead, hovering there and biting his lip as if he wasn't quite sure whether or not to come in. Roderich took his mind off him for a moment as he searched through his books for an appropriate piece of music. He needed something especially passionate today, though nothing overly melodramatic, there was no need to kick up too much of a fuss. Just a tune with enough ache rippling beneath the surface to reflect his frustrations. In the end, he decided on _Fur Elise_, not only one of his favourites, but one he was sure he'd discussed with Antonio before.

He had no need for sheet music, having memorised the notes through extensive practice, but he arranged it in position regardless. To calm his anxiety.

Closing his eyes, Roderich tickled out the infamous seven notes- creeping, tentative and eerily melancholic. Then, the mournful harmony sank in and he felt himself slipping away. Only when he played this piece did he remember why he held it in such high regard. It was a tune known to all, yet at the same time there was a deeply personal edge behind it; a hidden intensity that only he truly understood. He did his best to exaggerate every heave of sorrow and despair, letting vexation channel through his fingers and reverberate around the room. The notes came out somewhat more staccato than intended, but he supposed that was only to be expected.

He let his shoulders relax as he transferred seamlessly into a faster, more upbeat section. The notes rolled over each other with a kind of giddy expectation; so light and delicate and hopeful. However, their prospects were dashed a moment later as he receded to the original theme and the grief struck back with renewed despondency.

Roderich could have repeated the piece all night- losing himself endlessly in circles of effortless anguish- but remembering that Antonio was still listening jolted his senses back to reality. A final soft stroke of keys carried the tune to its natural conclusion, but Roderich stayed exactly where he was with his fingers poised. Gloom and apprehension were still thick about the air; the poignancy of the feeling making him want to choke out a sob. That was not entirely unexpected, given how much he'd thrown into that practice, yet he reflected that it had been a long time since his emotions had last risen to the surface like that. Gritting his teeth firmly, he pulled himself together enough to risk glancing over to Antonio. A silent request for a verdict.

Antonio had not moved during the performance, but his posture against the doorframe seemed even more slumped than before. His brow was uncharacteristically creased and his head tilted to the side slightly, like a dog struggling to comprehend a complex instruction. Every inch of his face, every handsome feature, was plagued with a sort of innocent, straining confusion. He was doing it again, Roderich knew; he was doing the best that he could. Trying so, _so_ hard to understand something that was obviously beyond him that the effort was excruciating to watch.

Because sometimes, even one's best could never be quite enough.

Hopeless, Roderich turned away and crashed his hands on the piano at random. The keys howled out in incomprehensible pain.

"Roddy!" Antonio jerked upright at the awful sound. His eyes had gone from narrowed to wide again now; wide and frightened. "Why did you... Are- are you alright?"

Roderich's pulse began to quicken. There it was, finally, the question he'd been praying to be asked ever since he arrived home. The perfect opportunity to let Antonio hear the screams under the surface of his skin and to see where the rest of their evening went from there. All it needed was a sentence- a word even- and his boyfriend's hands would be working their magic over his back, and his voice teasing his ear with husky, soothing whispers. Just one word. Surely he could shelve this ridiculous stoic charade long enough for that?

"Antonio... I-" the explanation was written perfectly in his mind. 'No, I am not alright. I've had the most awful day and I'd appreciate some attention. I need you to take care of me.' Roderich opened his mouth, once, twice, but it was no use. The words simply refused to come. Instead, he heaved out a defeated sigh.

"I am fine." he stood up, pulling the wooden cover over the piano keys, "A little tired, I suppose, but all the same... fine."

Roderich wasn't quite sure which broke his heart more; the fact that he preferred lies over voicing emotions to his own boyfriend, or the blinding smile of blissful reassurance which lit up Antonio's face as a result of them.

* * *

Roderich spent a good deal longer than usual alone in their ensuite that night. Not that he actually needed the extra time to get ready, of course as he showered and cleaned his teeth just as efficiently as ever. What kept his for such a lengthy period was that dratted mirror.

Today was by no means the first time that Roderich had felt broken inside, and whenever it had happened, he always found that there was something dangerously addictive about gazing at his own reflection. Analysing his appearance was oddly therapeutic, somehow, as if discovering his facial imperfections one-by-one helped him come to a better understanding of whom he was. The minutes slipped by as he cast his fingers over the face of the serious-beyond-his-years young man behind the glass; tracing over the haggardly-set forehead lines and the bruises of exhaustion rimming his eyes. More glaring signs that Antonio had missed. Exactly how was both a mystery and an aggravation to him.

When Roderich finally emerged into the bedroom, he was not at all surprised to notice that the lighting was low, restricted to a flickeringly-romantic bedside lamp. Nor that Antonio was lying spread-eagled and completely naked across the covers. The image and what it entailed should have been thrilling for him, but the only feeling stirring inside him was one of vague nuisance, like that of an undesirable chore. He knew exactly what that position meant, as well as the pleading, hungry gaze that burned fiercely in Antonio's eyes. These were simply a part of all the unconscious singles which his boyfriend gave whenever he was desperate to be utterly and thoroughly- there was no other word for it- _fucked_. Roderich had been sighing so much that evening that it made him feel like he was deflating, but he couldn't help another one slipping out at that. When he was in the mood, topping Antonio was by far one of the most pleasurable experiences in existence. But right now, he had neither the drive nor the arousal to see it through.

With his back pointedly facing Antonio, Roderich sat on the edge of their bed and removed his glasses. He stiffened as Antonio was onto him in an instant, cupping his vacant hand between his own and bringing them to his mouth. Roderich hoped for a moment that he might simply honour it with a chaste kiss, but it was apparent that he had something rather more erotic on his mind tonight. As was proven by the way his tongue lapped at and flickered over Roderich's fingers with that provocatively slow pace.

"These hands gave that piano a great ravishing tonight, didn't they?" he purred between licks, "But I think they could be put to an even better use."

Roderich gave his hand a gentle tug. "Antonio-"

"Mmmm, I wonder if it's true what they say about musicians being good with their fingers?"

"Antonio, I-"

"...And when you're inside me, you just might get to hear me sing, and-"

Having endured just about enough, Roderich promptly tore his hand away and whipped around.

"Will you _stop that_?! I do not want you sleep with you tonight!"

The words came out so starkly that he wished he could take them back the moment they'd been spoken. They were not even true- especially given how badly he craved Antonio's control- the trouble was, he just had no current desire to play the part of the aggressor. Worse still was Antonio's reaction. Roderich had never seen such a deadening, desolate pain in his eyes as he did now, and watching it unnerved him immensely. Anger, he could have dealt with, even confusion up to a point. But, oh God, not pain.

"You- you don't?" Antonio's voice was horse and quietly questioning. Possibly even verging on tears. "Then, what _do_ you want?"

'I want you to hold me.' Roderich's mind begged silently, 'I want you to hold me and kiss me and comfort me. _Please_.'

He waited as long as he dared for some sort of reaction, yet Antonio remained immobilised to the spot. That, as far as Roderich was concerned, was the final straw. With a huff which spoke verses of unfulfilment, he threw the covers over his body and flipped around to face the other side, leaving his boyfriend alone.

"Goodnight, Antonio."

Then he flicked out the light resting on his bedside table, and the darkness enveloped them both.


End file.
